Papa looked down at his youngest grandson… He had to do something about that dirty face. Ethan’s big bright eyes shone back above his smiling round cheeks covered with the evidence of a few too many sweet snacks. Ethan knew the look. It was time to get changed and cleaned up to go home. He knew… and he knew Papa knew he knew. Papa approached cautiously. Ethan presented his mischievous grin and lowered his head to peer up at his approaching guardian with wide smiling eyes. “No Papa!” Ethan shrieked, laughing and darting away from Papa’s outstretched arms.

Ethan ran, and weaved his way through furniture and in an out of rooms. Papa gave chase dutifully. Both would pause for a moment on either side of a furniture barrier as they caught their breaths and Ethan studied the landscape for a new escape route; giggling furiously the entire time. “No Papa!” He gave a head fake and struck off in another direction to extend the game. Papa obliged for a few more minutes and finally apprehended the child who was, at this point, weak from his own laughter. Papa carried the little guy into the bedroom to change his diaper and wash his face. “I got you”, he smiled to Ethan who laughed and nuzzled into Papa and enjoyed the carry into the other room.

However, Ethan’s compliance was short lived. His cute and cuddly act was just a ruse to allow him to catch his breath and bait Papa into letting down his guard. Ethan gave a few half-hearted efforts to wrestle free from the bed while Papa was getting ready to change him. Each time, he would give less and less resistance and then finally lay still as if to suggest cooperation. No doubt, this was in order to further convince Papa that Ethan was surrendering to the process… his plan was working.

Papa took another look at Ethan’s messy face. It was a virtual menu of the junk food and snacks in the candy dishes and pantry. This was too incriminating… better hurry and wash all that off. He left his suddenly accommodating grandchild on the bed as he walked a few steps away to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth so he could restore Ethan’s innocent appearance. Ethan waited…waited… listened for it… then he was off!

As soon as Ethan heard the sound of the faucet turning on, he sprung from the bed and raced for the bedroom door. In one swift motion, he reached for the handle, spun to his left, and pulled the door shut behind him as he fled the room laughing hysterically. He was sure one barrier would not be enough. His plan called for a much more thorough escape. He continued on to the back door, pulled the latch handle, and pulled the door open. Freedom awaited beyond the threshold.

Ethan ran outside onto the backyard patio and pulled the door closed behind him. He could barely stand from laughing so hard. He was pleased. His plan had worked. His face remained dirty; his diaper, unchanged. “Ethan!” It was Nana. She had been in the backyard and had seen him fly out the door. He was so delighted with himself that he was not at all concerned that he’d been caught. He explained his escape to Nana between fits of giggles. The back door opened. Papa peered out, damp washcloth in hand. Any frustration he may have felt was melted away by the joyful expression on Ethan’s face. Papa looked down at his youngest grandson. There was nothing he would change about that face.

Thanks for coming along for the ride!

She managed to relay the details of the drop off: the tears, the screams, the clutching on. The mournful wails that could be heard from within the house as she forced herself out the door hurry the boys off to school. I could picture his little outstretched arms and his bottom lip in fully pouted curl with his face streaked with tears. But I knew it wouldn’t last (or at least I really, really hoped it wouldn’t) and I attempted to console Kendra and committed to calling the house to check on him and provide a swift update. She drove on with the boys toward school… somehow weaving her grief into some type of rationalized contempt for me for having suggested or agreed to dropping Ethan off in the first place (As a man, I don’t try to understand these things, I just learn to recognize the warning signs).

I waited about 5 minutes to place the call. I needed her to be far enough down the road that she wouldn’t turn around if he was still crying (I hoped) and long enough for E to settle down and allow the Papa magic to take effect. The minutes crept past. I could feel my future growing more dim with each passing moment…her hatred was building…I was growing weak. I hit the speaker button. My eyes grew heavy and tight as I punched the telephone numbers. My head was cloudy. Did I dial correctly? How could I be sure? The phone rang. It sounded distant. I knew if I heard crying on the other end of the line, that morning may well have been my last. Ringing…ringing. “Hello?”

Silence in the background! Grim death released me from its tightening vice. “Hey dad”, I was able to respond as the strength quickly returned to my voice. “Everything Ok?” I asked. “He’s fine. We are doing fine. He’s just sitting up here hanging out with me. We’re about to go play soccer in the backyard.” Well played Papa… Ethan can hardly resist when the sports card gets pulled. So began their day. They kicked the soccer ball, explored the house, had some snacks, and watched a little TV. They had always been buddies, but this experience was giving them a chance to bond on an individual level and in a new setting. I texted Kendra the news. All was well, and she was able to focus and enjoy her time in the classroom. When I came home from work, I asked Ethan if he had a fun day. His response: “Papa”. “What did you do with Papa?” He jumped down and thrust his leg forward, “Kick!”

The following Tuesday saw a similar series of events. The initial meltdown was drastically less severe, and the sensations of panic and imminent doom decreased substantially. Ethan went through the motions, but was soon playing and into his routine. The next week included only a pouty face that never produced a tear or a wail. The week after that, nothing; and nothing since. He just settles in and takes command, directing my parents from room to room and playing games.  When it is time to go outside, he runs after Papa, “Ball! Ball!”, then runs to the door. Sometimes he let’s Nana play, but most days she gets to watch. When it is time to relax, Papa joins him on the patio swing. Nana is always welcome to sit on the other furniture. Sometimes she gets to swing too; but Papa goes first. At lunch, he selects three pictures (I’m told it’s always the same three) to join him at the kitchen island: a wedding picture of Kendra and me; a wedding picture of Kendra and our niece; and a picture of him and Papa.

I never had a routine like this. I didn’t know either of my grandfathers. I did get to spend a little time with my grandma’s husband, Daddy Walter when we traveled out to visit them a couple times. He was always so tired from working. He would sit in his chair in his big blue overalls and fall asleep. He’d alternate between snoring loudly and grinding his teeth. So much so that he would wake himself up sometimes. He didn’t say much, but every word I remember him saying to me was kind. I’d sit and watch him and think about how hard his life was and imagine the horrible things he probably had to endure every day. He had big coarse hands. I always thought they looked like they could smash bricks. When he’d pat me on the head, his palms would be soft and heavy. It was like anvils with pillows lowering down. When he died, I felt like I missed out on a lot that I could have learned from him.

I have no association for the emotions that are tied up in these Tuesday morning sessions. It’s like I am outside looking in on them when I hear about their day or when I see Ethan light up when he looks at Papa’s picture on our wall. But I don’t feel left out or cheated. I just feel amazed. I never knew the magic in that kind of a relationship first hand, but now we have a day for it. I am appreciative for the opportunity we have for our kids to interact with their grandparents and for my dad to be able to enjoy playing with his grandkids.  Eventually, the routine will change, but for now Ethan begins to look forward to Tuesdays like he looks forward to hunting the moon every night (and I do mean EVERY night). When I wonder what these Tuesdays will mean to him when he is older and thinks back on his relationship with Papa, I think about him eating lunch with his three pictures by his side. He brings them all to the table, but there’s only one that he picks up to kiss.

Thanks for coming along for the ride…